til it's gone
by Polydicta
Summary: You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone. Character death.


**'til its gone**

by Polydicta

You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone.

**Disclaimer: **

All fiction is derivative and fan fiction doubly so. I make no claim to own any part of any of the following, all I have done is an attempt to put together the elements in a novel fashion, using words and ideas like Lego ™ bricks.

There is no money involved – all I do is to share what I do for my own amusement.

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**'til its gone**

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The Boy Who Lived

She looked at his handsome face one last time. The livid scar on his forehead now faded in death, his skin a peculiar blue-grey and his heart, big enough to hold the world, now stilled.

Her tears, so long denied, spilled from her eyes, rippling across her pale cheeks.

They had stood side by side for so long.

She looked at his eyes, now closed in eternal repose, eyes that were once afire with life. Green flashes of light that had brightened her life since she came to Hogwarts.

Those blue lips, once red and alive, warm and velvet, now cold like the earth that would soon become his final resting place.

His hands, crossed on his breast, one holding the broken hilt of Gryffindor's sword, in the other she saw the wand that had been the first thing that was truly his, now charred and hollow, the phoenix feather burned out during his final duel.

At his throat was a medal, the Order of Merlin, first class with rowan leaves, the highest possible honour in the wizarding world.

And what she saw, as she looked at him laying there, was loss. A vast, yawning chasm of emptiness. An infinite pit of despair, of unending loneliness.

She regarded the man standing beside her, trying, uselessly, to comfort her. He tried to take her hand, but she shook him off.

"Ron, don't. It's over between us. No, there was never anything but friendship. You may be a brother to me, but you will never be my lover."

She took a deep breath and plunged over the precipice.

"There was only one man for me, and with his passing, I am a widow but never a wife. No one can replace him."

The redhead looked devastated.

"It's just grief speaking. You know that. Once we're married …"

She spat, "your words are poison! Leave me, snake!"

He recoiled as though burned, while she stared at the young man lying dead in his coffin, waiting, waiting for the clay's cold embrace.

Her lips moved, framing words spoken to the dead.

_I know it's too late to tell you in this life, but forgive me Harry. It was always you who I loved. It was you who comforted me, who stood by me as I should have stood by you. It was you I chose in the tent. It should have been you I chose in the end. Well, I choose now, and it's you I choose._

The casket was closed and lowered into the gaping maw of the grave. As the words were spoken, as Fawkes sang a sad song of farewell, as the grave was filled, she stood: her grief, a mute testimony to her unending love for the man who now lay beneath the grass, her only true love.

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The Girl Who Loved

He looked at her beautiful face one last time. The arrogant bush of brown hair now only tamed in death, her skin a peculiar blue-grey and her heart, strong enough to fight the world, now stilled.

His tears, so long denied, spilled from his eyes, rippling across his unshaven cheeks.

They had stood side by side for so long.

He looked at her eyes, now closed in eternal repose, eyes that were once afire with life. Brown orbs of emotion that had brightened his life since he came to Hogwarts.

Those blue lips, once red and alive, warm and velvet, now cold like the earth that would soon become her final resting place.

Her hands, crossed on her breast, one holding the remains of Ravenclaw's diadem, in the other he saw the wand that had been hers, the only other that he could use, now charred and split, silent witness to the violence of her final duel.

At her throat was a medal, the Order of Merlin, first class with rowan leaves, the highest possible honour in the wizarding world.

And what he saw, as he looked at her laying there, was loss. A vast, yawning chasm of emptiness. An infinite pit of despair, of unending loneliness.

He regarded the woman standing beside him, trying, uselessly, to comfort him. She tried to take his hand, but he shook her off.

"Ginny, don't. It's over between us. No, there was never anything but friendship. You may be a sister to me, but you will never be my lover."

He took a deep breath and plunged over the precipice.

"There was only one woman for me, and with her passing, I am a widower but never a husband. No one can replace her."

The redhead looked devastated.

"It's just grief speaking. You know that. Once we're married …"

He spat, "your words are poison! Leave me, snake!"

She recoiled as though burned, while he stared at the young woman lying dead in her coffin, waiting, waiting for the clay's cold embrace.

His lips moved, framing words spoken to the dead.

_I know it's too late to tell you in this life, but forgive me Hermione. It was always you who I loved. It was you who comforted me, who stood by me as I should have stood by you. It was me you chose in the tent. It should have been you I chose in the end. Well, I choose now, and it's you I choose._

The casket was closed and lowered into the gaping maw of the grave. As the words were spoken, as Fawkes sang a sad song of farewell, as the grave was filled, he stood: his grief, a mute testimony to his unending love for the woman who now lay beneath the grass, his only true love.

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The Wizard Who Meddled

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, erstwhile Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, late Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, former Supreme Warlock of the Wizengamot, Order of Merlin (first class) and inveterate meddler in the affairs of others smiled.

One of the good things about being dead was that you could bend the rules. Another was that time was largely habitual. The third was that the mind became rather less clouded than in life. A fourth was that the past tense became rather more significant … and less permanent.

Albus smiled. He had his sister Ariana back, and his brother (when he finally turned up), and he had his parents, too. He even had his lover. Now he had to fix some things that he'd messed up in the grandest, most spectacular fashion during his life. All the tools he had now were dreams.

He vaguely considered the fact that he was a dream, himself. He smiled and allowed the two children to wake from their respective nightmares.

.

Harry got out of bed and wandered down to the common room, knowing that he would be unable to sleep further. True enough, it had been an exciting year, what with dementors and rescuing Sirius, but that dream, the nightmare of the most beautiful witch lying dead … He sat before the fading embers of the fire and poured his grief out in great wracking sobs. Tears flooding his eyes and soaking his pyjamas, he sat and mourned the loss of his female best friend.

.

Hermione woke; her eyes and pillow wet from her tears. Unable to shake the horror of her dream, she rose and went downstairs. As she reached the bottom of the staircase, she heard the sounds of someone crying.

"Harry?"

He looked up at her, his face a picture of unimaginable, terrible grief: a grief so dreadful as to tear the heart from the human frame a loss so massive that it would bring down the stars and drown the continents. A grief she alone this night shared.

"Her- her- mione? I th-th-thought I-I'd lost you!"

She sat beside the green eyed wizard, her own tears spilling and forcing her to hug him.

They melted together and simply cried out their grief, and their thanks that their nightmares had been only that.

At last, the boy managed to choke out his words.

"I dreamed that we had fought Voldemort at the end of our seventh year. Y-you were … and I loved you but I hadn't known u-until you were g-gone. A-a-and I n-never told you."

She nodded, unable to speak coherently. "Me too," she managed brokenly.

He pushed her back, so that he could look at her pretty face. Red rimmed green eyes met red-rimmed brown.

His voice now steadier he told her, "for whatever it's worth, Hermione, and for whatever it means, I love you. I have always loved you and I always will."

She smiled. "And I love you too. Now and forever."

He smiled. "Now and forever. And, before it's too late, I'll ask you now. Hermione Granger, would you consider being my girlfriend and, perhaps, one day even, my wife?"

She nodded frantically. "That you should even need to ask, Harry. I don't even need to consider it, I will."

"I assume that's a yes, but to what?"

"To both questions, silly!"

By now, their lips were so close that a mere shiver brought them to a gentle kiss, a kiss that sealed the pact … the kiss that would ensure that they would triumph, side by side, forever.


End file.
